


Sick Day

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan didn't sign up to play nursemaid to a sick Padawan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight and loather of mornings, sat on the couch in his quarters at the Jedi Temple and tried not to fall asleep.

Obi-Wan had never enjoyed getting up in the morning. He and Qui-Gon had both been night owls, preferring to stay up late at night and sleep further into the day. _“A morning meditation doesn’t lose its power by noon,”_ Qui-Gon had often joked. Obi-Wan’s new apprentice, however, seemed constitutionally incapable of sleeping past sunrise. It would be one thing if Anakin made up for it by going to bed earlier, but he didn’t. The boy didn’t appear to need more than four hours of sleep a night. The one time Obi-Wan had decided to just sleep and let Anakin have run of the quarters for an hour or so, he’d woken to find his Padawan trying to disassemble Qui-Gon’s—it would always be Qui-Gon’s; Obi-Wan didn’t think he’d ever be able to call it his own—lightsaber.

_“Anakin, it’s a lightsaber! Do you know how long it takes to construct a lightsaber? You can’t just replace it!”_

_“Master, you know I can fix anything.”_

_“Don’t try to fix things that are not broken, Anakin!”_

That was the last time Obi-Wan let Anakin poke around their habitat unsupervised.

It wasn’t just his new sleep schedule that had Obi-Wan struggling to stay awake every day. Anakin Skywalker was exhausting.

The boy was both endearing and infuriating, often simultaneously. Anakin could melt Obi-Wan’s soul one minute and drive him to the edge of sanity the next. All the raw power in the galaxy didn’t make up for the reality that Anakin was several years behind his age-mates in terms of training. So Obi-Wan spent hours each day helping his student play catch-up. Anakin’s formal schooling on Tatooine had been nonexistent, so his reading, writing and mathematical skills lagged behind his peers as well. Obi-Wan picked up the slack there too. Anakin was a fast learner but he still needed more remedial help than Obi-Wan had been prepared to give him.

Beyond trying to get Anakin up to speed with training and academics, Obi-Wan hadn’t considered how overwhelming Coruscant would be for a slave boy from Tatooine. The planet had seen a thunderstorm a few weeks ago during which Obi-Wan found his apprentice huddled under the bed afraid for his life. Anakin, having grown up in an arid desert, found Coruscant too cold. Whenever Obi-Wan wasn’t looking, Anakin found a way to turn the temperature up far higher than his master preferred. Obi-Wan had tried locking the thermostat, but he should have known that wouldn’t stop the nine-year-old who could build a podracer. Two days ago Obi-Wan had finally told Anakin to just put on another shirt. Obi-Wan had even needed to teach Anakin how to use the shower—an experience the young Jedi Knight was not eager to repeat. Ever.

It was draining. All of it. Obi-Wan felt like he’d barely stopped moving since stumbling away from fighting Darth Maul on Naboo.

_“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground,”_ Tessara Ranyar had told Obi-Wan in no uncertain terms a few days ago. _“You need to get some rest. Jedi aren’t immortal, you know.”_

_“No kidding!”_ Obi-Wan had snapped at his childhood friend, his fuse uncharacteristically short.

A flash off to his left pulled Obi-Wan’s attention from his thoughts. The datapad on the couch was blinking.

**INCOMING MESSAGE**

**RANYAR, TESSARA**

**SLIDE TO VIEW**

_Speaking of…_ Obi-Wan swiped the screen and read at the message.

**Are you free?**

Obi-Wan frowned and looked at the time. 0930. There was no good reason for Tessara to contact him at this hour. She should be teaching. Actually, she was probably just done teaching.

Just done teaching Anakin’s class.

With an icy feeling of dread forming in his stomach, Obi-Wan typed back a message. **What’s going on?**

**I need you to come get Anakin.**

Irritation, bordering on anger, flamed through Obi-Wan’s fatigue. **What did he do this time?**

**Hold your tauntauns, Master Hothead.** Even through text Obi-Wan could hear the amusement in Tessara’s reply. **He didn’t do anything. He’s sick.**

Anger gave way to concern. **Sick?** Anakin had seemed fine a couple of hours ago. Their Master-Padawan bond might not be that strong yet, but Obi-Wan was sure he would have noticed if Anakin wasn’t feeling well.

**I took him to the healers’ wing but they need you to release him. He’s running a nasty fever.**

_Wonderful._ **On my tauntaun.**

**Funny.**

Obi-Wan tossed the pad onto the couch, scrubbed his hands over his face, and headed out.

It seemed he was about to add nursemaid to his ever-growing list of duties.

.

.

.

Obi-Wan arrived in the healers’ wing to find Anakin curled in a thoroughly pathetic-looking ball on one of the beds, Tessara standing behind him with one hand on his head and the other on his shoulder. At this close proximity Obi-Wan could easily feel his apprentice’s distress.

“When did this start?” Obi-Wan demanded of Tessara.

The other Jedi gave him a pointed look, then inclined her head toward Anakin as if to say _He’s right here; why don’t you ask him?_

Obi-Wan sighed to himself and crouched down in front of Anakin. “Anakin? When did you start feeling like this?”

Anakin cracked his eyes open. “During class.”

Well, that made Obi-Wan feel a little better. At least he hadn’t missed anything that morning.

A harried-looking healer stepped into the room. “This boy’s your Padawan?” He asked Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan nodded and stood.

The healer thrust a pad at Obi-Wan. “He’s got that flu that’s been going around. Won’t kill him, just keep him hydrated and bring him in here if the fever stays above 102 for more than a day. Here, print this and you can take him home.”

Obi-Wan pressed his thumb to the scanner on the pad. “Come on, Anakin,” he urged the obviously miserable form on the bed. “Let’s get you back home and you can rest.” _Maybe I can too._

Tessara gave Obi-Wan a sympathetic smile and rubbed her hand over Anakin’s hair. “Anakin, feel better sweetheart. I’ll see you in class.”

With some effort, Anakin sat up and slid off the bed—and immediately pitched forward toward his master.

“Anakin, Anakin, easy there.” Obi-Wan steadied his apprentice and bent down. “You’re not walking anywhere. Come on, grab hold.”

Anakin wound his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. Carefully, Obi-Wan stood and ambled out of the room, ignoring the stares he got as he left.

.

.

.

Somehow Obi-Wan managed to key into his quarters without dropping Anakin. The youngster might still be a small boy, but he was a load to carry across the Jedi Temple.

“All right, Anakin. Let’s get you to sleep.” Obi-Wan settled his apprentice on the couch and tugged a blanket over him.

“No, Master,” Anakin mumbled. “Too hot.”

“Too hot?” Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He went into the kitchen and poured Anakin a glass of water. “Here, drink up.”

“Not thirsty.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and marshaled all his patience. He sat on the couch next to Anakin. “You have a fever. Getting dehydrated will just make you feel worse. Come on, sit up.”

Anakin obliged, taking the glass without a word and downing all the water. He rubbed his forehead. “Head hurts.”

That, at least, Obi-Wan could do something about. “Here. Put your hands down.” He rested his fingers on Anakin’s temples and his thumbs on the boy’s cheekbones. “I’m just doing a little pain relief exercise. That’s all,” Obi-Wan assured when he felt his student’s unease. “Is that OK?”

Anakin nodded his consent.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reached into the Force, numbing the pain receptors in Anakin’s head. He felt Anakin relax fractionally.

“How did you do that?” The Padawan asked.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and smiled. “I’ll show you when you’re feeling better. Now, get some sleep.”

.

.

.

Short of being dead, Obi-Wan was beginning to think he’d never get more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep again. It turned out sick Anakin was even more high-maintenance than healthy Anakin.

“Anakin, sit up,” Obi-Wan coaxed wearily a few hours later as his apprentice woke up coughing yet again. The Jedi felt maddeningly helpless; even with the Force he could only do so much to ease Anakin’s discomfort. Medicine wasn’t much help either; the same society that had developed spaceships capable of light speed had little to combat a fever.

The coughing finally subsided and Anakin slumped back on the couch with a whimper. Obi-Wan debated using the Force to make Anakin fall asleep again, but that seemed like something of a cop-out.

“All right, you know the drill.” Obi-Wan reached onto the coffee table and picked up the water glass. Anakin took it without complaining.

“Did you ever get sick, Master?” Anakin asked weakly.

“Of course I have,” Obi-Wan answered. He set the glass back on the coffee table and picked up the thermometer. He passed it over Anakin’s temple. 101 degrees.

“What did Master Qui-Gon do for you?”

“He…” Obi-Wan frowned to himself as he remembered getting sick on the way home from a mission just a few months before Naboo. He’d started feeling ill right before getting back to Coruscant and had spent the entire night hunched over the toilet. And Qui-Gon spent the night in the fresher with him.

_“You should go to sleep, Master. I’ll be all right.”_

_“You are many things right now, my Padawan, but you are certainly not all right.”_

_“Master—”_

_“Hush, young one. I can’t sleep while you’re hurting like this.”_

For the next four days Obi-Wan had barely been able to move from the couch. Qui-Gon had waited on him hand and foot, assuring his apprentice had plenty of water and whatever food his stomach could handle.

_“This isn’t exactly what you signed up for when you became my master.”_

_“Oh, Obi-Wan. This_ is _exactly what I signed up for when I became your master.”_

“He stayed with me,” Obi-Wan answered simply. Just knowing Qui-Gon was there had helped.

Maybe this whole thing wasn’t so complicated after all.

“Like you’re staying with me?” Anakin was starting to fade again.

“Of course.” Obi-Wan laid his apprentice back on the couch. “It’s what I signed up for, after all,” he added, mostly to himself.

.

.

.

Anakin had been out for the better part of eight hours. A few hours ago Obi-Wan had crashed on the recliner, desperate for some rest himself.

The warning cry from the Force roused Obi-Wan from slumber just before Anakin did.

“Anakin, Anakin.” Obi-Wan rushed to his apprentice’s side and pulled the sobbing boy into his lap. “It was a dream. Just a dream. Shhhhh.” He tucked Anakin’s head into his shoulder. “Shhhhh.”

Anakin wound his arms around his master’s neck. “I miss my mom.”

Obi-Wan sighed and closed his eyes. Now was not the time for a lecture about attachments. “I know you do, Padawan. I know you do.”

After a few minutes Obi-Wan stood and moved both of them to the recliner. He settled the youngster in his arms and began to rock the chair almost unconsciously, sending pulses of comfort through his bond with Anakin.

Anakin didn’t cry for long as exhaustion overtook him again. Obi-Wan touched his fingers to the boy’s forehead and noticed he didn’t feel as warm.

Obi-Wan knew he should put Anakin to bed. But he really didn’t want to.

_He won’t want to sleep in your arms forever,_ a voice in Obi-Wan’s head said.

_He shouldn’t want to sleep in your arms at all,_ another voice countered. _Attachment, you know?_

_How many times did Qui-Gon do this for you?_ The first voice argued. It was true. Qui-Gon may have been saving of his words, but never of his actions. Obi-Wan remembered one time after a particularly traumatic assignment, Qui-Gon had set the ship for autopilot on the way home and spent the seven-hour trip holding Obi-Wan while the then-Padawan cried.

Qui-Gon, of course, had never had more than a casual acquaintance with the Jedi Code.

The quarters were dark, the natural light fading as the sun set over Coruscant. Anakin was sleepy and blessedly still on Obi-Wan’s lap, the Padawan’s dead weight on the Master’s chest oddly soothing. Obi-Wan found himself reluctant to disturb the rare moment of peace between the two of them.

So he kicked back the recliner and used the Force to call the throw blanket from the couch and settle it over them. Anakin squirmed at the change in position. Obi-Wan did use the Force then, just a gentle push to send his student into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

“Rest well, my young one,” Obi-Wan whispered, running a hand over Anakin’s hair.

Then Obi-Wan followed his student into slumber.

.

.

.

Three days later, Obi-Wan rolled over in bed and let out a noise between a sigh and a groan.

_I’m sick._

The Jedi Knight forced his eyes open. _What time is it?_ He closed his eyes again. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going anywhere today.

_I should probably see if Tessara could give Anakin his lightsaber lesson. I hope she doesn’t tell him the story about the tournament._

_Where did I leave my communicator?_ Obi-Wan coughed and realized talking might not be his best move at the moment. _Need the pad. Need to text her._

_Tessara. She was right. I ran myself into the ground. I’ll never hear the end of it. Maybe someone else could help Anakin—_

_She’ll find out anyway. Anakin’s in two of her classes._

_I’m karked._

“Master?”

“Mmmmmph.” Obi-Wan hadn’t even sensed his apprentice’s approach. “What, Anakin?”

“I made you tea.”

Obi-Wan sat up and took a grateful gulp from the mug Anakin offered him. The tea wasn’t strong enough, and far too sweet for his liking, but the warmth seemed to loosen his chest a little. “Thank you.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

“I made you sick, didn’t I?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan just nodded and rubbed his aching forehead. He heard Anakin patter across the room and back. “Here. It’s your datapad and your communicator.” He set the devices on the nightstand.

So, the soul-melting Anakin had chosen to show up this morning. Obi-Wan took another sip of tea and tried to stifle a cough. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be OK today, Master,” Anakin said. “You can go to sleep.”

Obi-Wan fell back on the bed. “All right. I’ll turn the communicator on in case you need me.” Though what he could do in this state, Obi-Wan had frankly no idea.

Anakin bent over and frowned. “Do you have a headache?”

_Yes, and like every other headache I’ve had recently, you’re somehow to blame._ “Yes, Anakin. I have a headache.”

Anakin touched his fingers to his master’s temple and Obi-Wan felt the pain recede. It wasn’t perfect technique, but it still worked. “How did you learn that?”

“I guess I picked it up when you did it on me.”

_Oh, wonderful. No way could this ever cause trouble._

“I’ll let you sleep, Master.” Anakin turned to leave the room.

“Anakin?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Don’t touch any lightsabers.”

“Yes, Master.”


End file.
